Page 177 of Warlord's Plaything

She screams.

The sound rips through me.

Hira collapses, smoke rising from her skin.

Her body twitches, spasms?—

And Kaelith laughs."Brave, but pointless."He turns back to the altar, raising his arms, calling forth more magic."You’re already too late."

The rift behind him expands, the ground trembling beneath us.

I crawl toward Hira.

She is still breathing.

Barely.

Her skin is hot to the touch, her pulse too weak.

My chest tightens.

Rage, panic, something dark coils inside me.

Kaelith thinks he’s already won.

He thinks we are nothing.

He thinks this war is over.

But he is wrong.

Because as long as I can still move?—

As long as Hira still breathes?—

We will not stop.

We will not fall.

And Kaelith will not become death itself.

Not while I still live.

56

HIRA

Ican barely breathe.

The pain is unbearable.

It feels like my flesh is unraveling, like fire has burned through my veins and left only raw, exposed nerves in its wake.

But I am still alive.

Somehow.

Kaelith stands before us, no longer a dark elf, no longer anything mortal.

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